Chickamauga

Again the summer fevered skies,
The cooling autumn calms,
Again the golden moons arise
On harvest-happy farms.
O nation free from sea to sea,
With union blest forever,
Not vainly heroes fought for thee
By Chickamauga River!

The autumn winds were piping low
Beneath the vine-clad eaves;
We heard the hollow bugle blow
Among the ripened sheaves.
And fast the mustering squadrons passed
Through mountain portals wide
And swift the blue brigades were massed
By Chickamauga's tide.

It was the Sabbath; and in awe
We heard the dark hills shake,
And o'er the mountain turrets saw
The smoke of battle break.
And 'neath that war-cloud, gray and grand,
The hills o'erhanging low,
The Army of the Cumberland,
Unequal, met the foe!

Again, O fair September night!
Beneath the moon and stars,
I see, through memories dark and bright,
The altar-fires of Mars.
The morning breaks with screaming guns
From batteries dark and dire,
And where the Chickamauga runs
Red runs the muskets' fire.

I see bold Longstreet's darkening host
Sweep through our lines of flame,
And hear again, "The right is lost!"
Swart Rosecrans exclaim.
"But not the left," young Garfield cries;
"From that we must not sever,
While Thomas holds the field that lies
On Chickamauga River!"

Oh! on that day of clouded gold,
How, half of hope bereft,
The cannoneers, like Titans, rolled
Their thunders on the left!
I see the battle-clouds again
With glowing autumn's splendors blending;
It seemed as if the gods with men
Were on Olympian heights contending.

In dreams I stand beside the tide
Where those old heroes fell.
Above the valleys, long and wide,
Sweet rings the Sabbath bell.
I hear no more the bugle blow
As on that fateful day;
I hear the ring-dove fluting low,
Where shaded waters stray.

On Mission Ridge the sunlight streams
Above the fields of fall,
And Chattanooga calmly dreams
Beneath her mountain wall;
Old Lookout Mountain towers on high,
As in heroic days,
When 'neath the battle of the sky
Were seen the summits blaze.

Tis ours to lay no garlands fair
On many graves unknown,
Kind Nature sets her gentians there,
And fall the sear leaves lone.
Those heroes' graves no shaft of Mars
May mark with beauty ever;
But floats the flag of forty stars
By Chickamauga River.